


Ruins

by SculptorOfBeginnings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SculptorOfBeginnings/pseuds/SculptorOfBeginnings
Summary: Your husband died on a hunt, and you wish you'd died with him.





	Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC CONTAINS REFERENCES TO SUICIDE, SEMI-ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, GRIEF, AND SEVERE DEPRESSION WHICH IS WHY I RATED IT M
> 
> Written for a 7 Deadly Sins challenge on Tumblr originally, the sin I chose was Sloth. 
> 
> Beta'd by my wife Storm.

_Maybe today’s the day,_ you mused thoughtfully. _Maybe._

It was 2pm, and it was swelteringly hot but you were still in bed.

Instead of entertaining the dark thought any further, you rolled over. Ignoring the pain in your body from laying for so long was easy as you drifted back off for another eight hours of sleep.

It had been just over a year since your husband died hunting a nest of vampires, and instead of improving, your grief only seemed to be getting worse. As the one year anniversary of his death passed you had expected to feel some sort of relief from your constant pain.  

Instead, every day seemed bleaker than the last. Memories of his face were still vivid in your mind and attached to everything you laid your eyes on in the home you’d shared for five blissful years. A home you couldn’t bring yourself to leave anymore.

Unlike most hunters, you hadn’t thrown yourself into hunting or revenge after your husband’s death. You’d done the exact opposite, locking yourself away and hiding from a harsh reality devoid of the man who’d made life worth living.

The separation had been quick and painless… Neither of you had family, and while you had connections in the hunting community, you made a point of being a bit apart from everyone else. The pre-paid cells still rang sometimes, but not often enough for anyone to notice the severity of your depression. Faking it for ten minutes at a time was easy, but you were thankful as hell no one had dropped by to see the state of the cabin. Not that they could have if you’d wanted them too, because no one knew where it was.

Being a neat freak, your husband would have been ashamed of you for how you were handling your grief. You barely had the energy to roll out of bed, much less throw away the accumulation of trash and dishes around the couch.

Or beside your bed.

Or on the kitchen counters.

It had been weeks since you had cleaned anything, and at least a week since you’d cleaned yourself. You were a hundred percent sure the place, and probably your body, smelled like an _actual_ dump. Your hair had dreadlocked itself a few months ago when you stopped brushing it, and you were sleeping all but maybe six hours a day. Watching your garden grow or talking to the delivery guy once a month didn’t require you to look presentable, and now Amazon had drone delivery. You didn’t have to face people ever, so why bother?

You knew you’d taken it a little far, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The memory of his hands on your skin was all that mattered. The heat in his eyes when he’d looked at you, the smell of sweat on his skin after a hard hunt, the gruff vibrations of his voice as it rolled through your body igniting feelings you’d never had before and never would again… They were all gone, and your life was empty. Meaningless. People died every day, but when he’d died, everything had left with him.

Many times you’d thought about ending it. _So easy…_ The gun safe was just down in the basement. There were plenty of knives in the kitchen, or pills in the bathroom… Just giving up and moving on seemed like the best option, but his face stopped you every time, draining you of any energy you’d been able to gather up to complete the task. You’d briefly thought about hunting again, but saving people? A laughable concept in your condition. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Facing your internal monsters was hard enough, the real ones would just have to wait.

\---------

Dean sipped his beer thoughtfully as Thomas, one of the few hunters your husband would have called a friend, explained the situation.

"We missed the one year anniversary. _All of us._ With everything going on no one’s even checked on her in months until now. All of the prepaids are off or disconnected. I’m really worried guys." He adjusted the trucker hat on his head awkwardly.

"Why haven’t you just gone and checked on her?" Sam asked, a hint of incredulity straining his voice. Inside however, guilt flared. He and Dean hadn’t thought about you in months either, much less checked in. He caught Dean shifting uncomfortably on his barstool. _Guess he’s feeling the same,_ Sam thought, casting his eyes back to Thomas. Handling an anniversary like that alone couldn’t have been easy, and Sam didn’t want to even imagine what you had gone through.

"Because I don’t know where she is!" Thomas snapped defensively. "When they moved in together they agreed to keep the location secret and did a damn good job of burying it. I wouldn’t be surprised if that's where she is but…"

"Sammy can find her." Dean interrupted before finishing his beer. "And we start now. Gimme everything you got on her." Thomas shrugged and held up his empty hands.

"Here you go. That’s everything." The snark in his voice made Sam flinch.

"Nothing?" Dean growled, roughly standing from his seat. He glowered at Thomas. "A hunter’s widow has been MIA for months and no one’s even _started_ looking for her?"

"I didn’t hear you asking about her recently either, Winchester," he snapped, standing up as well. He squared his shoulders, trying to look as big as possible even at 5’10" and 180 pounds soaking wet.

"Kinda hard to keep an eye on the _apocalypse_ and the " _community_ " at the same time," Dean spat back. "I didn’t see you stepping up to help last time so the least you could do is check on a few people! We’re supposed to look out for each other!" Sam jumped up and stepped between the two hunters, ready to play peacekeeper.

"I CAME TO YOU FOR HELP, NOT CRITICISM DEAN! You wouldn’t even know to look if I hadn’t fucking called you!"

"Alright guys let’s calm down," Sam’s eyes nervously scanned the bar as he realized they’d caught the bouncer’s attention. "Dean, let it go, none of us were our best on this one and we’ve got work to do now." It took a moment for Dean to respond and relax against Sam’s hand on his chest. Thomas shoved Sam’s hand off his own chest roughly and stepped back.

"I don’t need this shit. _Screw_ you guys. Self important fucks." The hunter grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bar, solidly pissed at being questioned by hunters that had nothing to do with the community most of the time.

In reality, all the flying testosterone was covering copious amounts of guilt. None of them had known how to handle a widow that disappeared the way you had. Revenge they would have understood and helped you handle, but when you’d withdrawn everyone had let you because they didn’t know what else to do.

 _Give her time,_ they’d told one another and themselves, s _he’ll come around. She’ll be back and get those bastards that got away. She’ll call_. No one had even finished off the nest that took your husband from you, thinking you’d want the kills for yourself.

But time passed like it always does in the hunting world. Monsters didn’t rest, and neither could they. Some hunters had called semi-frequently in the beginning, trying to coax you out, but when that had been unsuccessful the calls dwindled down to nothing.

Dean glared seriously at the door the hunter had left out of, tremors racking his body from restraint.

"I can’t believe we forgot about her." Sam whispered, taking his seat again. He grabbed his now-warm beer and downed all of it with a grimace. Dean finally fixed him with a pained expression of his own.

"We’ll find her brother, we have to."

\---------

Two weeks and mounds of research later found the Winchesters driving down the five-mile barely-there pathway to your cabin. It was dark outside, the thick woods hiding the moonlight and crowding in on a road that hadn’t been used in a very long time. Dean winced every time a branch snapped across Baby’s windshield or scraped down her sides at particularly narrow parts of the path.

 _This can’t even be called a road anymore,_ Sam thought grimly as his eyes scanned for any sign of a break in the foliage.

"I don’t like this Dean." He turned his attention back to the laptop screen where he had your Amazon order history pulled up. "She hasn’t ordered food in two weeks," Dean grunted in acknowledgement, "and before that… well there’s not much…" His tone told Dean that with every second passing, his little brother was believing you were still alive less and less.

"We’ll find her in time Sammy." He tried to keep his voice even to hide his own nervousness. The responsibility for your situation had settled on his shoulders, even though it had no place being there.

"According to the map we should be almost there. Quarter of a mile." Sam’s voice was low and Dean’s responding nod silent. They both expected to find you dead, but didn’t dare speak the words lest they make it real.

Another failure was not something they needed on their plates.

\---------

The thought that you hadn’t ingested water or food in days never even registered as you slept your life away. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten out of bed; the only thing you wanted to remember was the man in your dreams. Even rolling over was seemingly pointless, your energy so drained nothing seemed worth moving for.

Your dreams alternated between bliss and terror, and each time you woke up was followed by momentary thoughts of how to end your life, followed by more sleep. Your body wasn’t even producing tears when you cried anymore, pain only racking your chest as it heaved and the burn behind your eyes forcing them closed yet again.

 _Maybe this time I won’t wake up,_ was your last, hopeful, thought as you drifted off to sleep again.

A sudden crash from the front room jolted you back awake. You would have snapped into a sitting position if you’d had the energy, but it seemed like your body was finally giving out on you. You shouldn’t have felt so thankful for it.

You tried to ignore the sounds of male voices echoing through your home and go back to sleep.

 _Finally,_ you thought weakly, assuming it was the vampires coming to finish you off.

"Oh my god…" came the soft whisper from your open doorway.

"Dean, _the smell_ … Do you think she’s…"

"Shut up Sammy." You heard one of them grunt and shuffle through the sea of trash on their way to where you lay unmoving on your bed. A small smile tried to quirk your lips.

"Win..chester," you croaked, recognizing your visitors’ voices.

"Y/N! Thank God you’re alive, Sammy, water!" Dean rushed the last few steps of the obstacle course and sat on your bedside, ignoring everything but your shallow breathing. He tapped your cheek to get you to open your eyes back up. "We were so worried,Y/N…” You tried to croak something out but he stopped you. “Don’t talk, not yet." Sam’s heart was pounding in his chest as he dug a bottle of lukewarm water out of the bag slung around his shoulder. Unsure if it was fear or relief he was feeling, Dean placed his hand on your clammy forehead. "Girl, what the hell did you do to yourself. It’s like a sweatbox in here."

"Slee…Sleeping." You tried unsuccessfully to clear your throat, instead it felt more like swallowing sandpaper.

"Shhhh," Dean urged as he began to drizzle water over your cracked and dry lips. Eventually you opened your mouth and let him drop some inside. After a few tense minutes Dean looked at Sam. "Go start the car. She needs a hospital." Without a word Sam ran back through the house to do as instructed. Dean carefully gathered you up in the thin sheet you’d surrounded yourself with, trying to ignore how light and breakable you felt.

You drifted back off before he even got you out of the house.

\---------

“She’s still out.” Sam told Dean as the older Winchester approached your hospital room.

“It’s been two days…”

“Don’t worry Dean, we got there in time, the doctor said so. I think they said they’re gonna wake her up today too...”

“You told them we were her brothers right?” Dean asked quietly. Sam nodded, uncertain.

“Then we need to be there when she wakes up. This isn’t over for her.”

“It almost was.” Sam added, glancing nervously at your closed door.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to dispel the image of you on your bed, surrounded by filth and looking like a god-damned skelton. “Yeah… Almost.”  

\---------

Your return to consciousness was slow and foggy, but the sensation of a hand on yours helped anchor you to the real world.

Which was something you didn’t want. 

 _His_ voice was fading from your head, _his_ touch becoming lighter and lighter as something pulled you away from him.

“No,” you whimpered lowly, tears starting to pool and fall gently from your eyes. Dean’s hand tightened on yours at the sound of your pain.

“We’re right here sweetheart, we got you, don’t worry,” the sound of Dean’s gruff voice cut through your dream, making it fade faster. Panic started to rise as you realized your love was leaving you again, your heartbeat increasing rapidly and sending every machine hooked to you into a frenzy of alarms. Dean was shocked when your limbs started to flail and your voice rose, unexpectedly deep and rough from disuse.

Your eyes popped open, taking in the bright lights and blurry faces.

“No! No no no no no no, I WAS SO CLOSE YOU BASTARDS!” Fear and pain laced your voice as you fought harder against the nurse trying to restrain you. You levelled your gaze on a blurry Dean and sent a snarl his way, your voice deciding to finally give out on you. Unable to vocalize your pain, you let the tears really flow now. Panic suddenly overtook you again as you noticed how many people were in the room with you. Watching you. _Judging_ you.

You stopped struggling, feeling like a deer in headlights as you felt the padded cuffs click into place. Your eyes travelled nervously over the people surrounding you. Sam and Dean had moved over by the door, having been shooed away by the doctor.

“Y/N, I’m going to sedate you, but only lightly, ok?” The doctor’s voice was meant to be comforting, but the roar in your ears was deafening as everything came crashing down in a terrible cacophony of realization around you.

The warm fuzzy feeling of the sedative didn’t take long to affect you, leaving you motioning lazily for water. It was something you could finally accept needing, if only to scream at your saviors.

After getting some in you though, you found you didn’t want to yell at them. You just wanted everyone to leave the room.

“I haven’t... seen more than one person at a time in... almost a year guys, can I get some space?” Your voice was incredibly quiet as your head rolled on your shoulders, but the doctor nodded and motioned everyone out. You messily shook your head when the Winchesters tried to leave. “Stay.”

Dean cracked a conceited smirk at everyone else as Sam directed him back towards your bed. They each took a side and sat down beside you, hopeful expressions on their faces. You closed your eyes, fighting more tears as the fresh grief washed over you.

 _“I hate you.”_ Dean dropped his head into his hands at your words, not knowing how to respond even though he’d suspected this would be the case.

“Y/N,”

“Shut up Sam. Right fucking now.” Your chest was starting to hurt from all the talking, but you had to get it out before you decided to stop talking forever. Your voice was so small they had to move in close to hear it. “You saved me. And I hate you for it. I want you to leave. Get in your car and fucking forget about me like all of you did for a whole fucking year.” The ice in your voice brought that single man-tear he didn’t know he was famous for to Dean’s eye. He started to say something but you silenced him with a weak shake of your head.

“No… I don’t... need your words Dean. The doctors... They’ll keep me here, maybe forever, and I’ll be _fine_ ,” the venom in your voice as you spat out the last word made Sam wonder if the sedative was still working.

“Don’t tell anyone where I am. And leave. _Now_.”

You closed your eyes with finality, happy to ignore their crestfallen looks.

\---------

Six months down the road of recovery you were a completely different, but still institutionalized, person. You’d shaved your head to rid yourself of the dreadlocks, but now it had grown out to a respectable shoulder length.

Today was Sam and Dean’s first visit; the only visit you’d requested so far, and the only one you probably ever would. You’d called them a week before, finally apologizing for your actions after they saved your life. You’d given Thomas his credit for sending them to you with a phone call, then promptly resolved to never speak to him again. The Winchesters had done all the heavy lifting anyways.

“Hey guys!” You called happily, ignoring your nervousness as they walked into the communal space. The shock on Sam’s face was comical and Dean rushed in to hug you.

“Holy shit, Y/N, you look so different!”

“Feel different too.” You returned Sam’s hug next as he crushed your body against his.

“We’re so sorry,” The giant’s voice cracked with emotion, making you chuckle softly.

“None of this was your fault guys.” Dean didn’t look convinced by your words, but took a seat next to you without contradicting them.

“So, you ready to tell us what the hell happened to you?” You blushed and looked down at your hands.

How did you explain the process of depression? How could you explain to them the slow zapping of strength as your grief had annihilated the will to live?

“I guess it all started as a messy bedroom. I knew he would have hated it, but I just kept telling myself, **‘my room is messy so if someone tries to kill me, they’ll trip over something and die,’** ’” you smiled, remembering telling your husband that same thing the first night you’d brought him home. You were feeling embarrassed over the state the Winchesters had found you in, but you continued, “The rest kind of spiraled from there. Then when no one called on the anniversary and...I...” Your voice trailed off and each brother grabbed a hand.

“No one should have to deal with grief like that alone. _No one_ ,” Sam urged softly.

“It’s never gonna happen again. You have our word.”

And as you looked deep into Dean’s eyes, you thought you just might believe him.


End file.
